406.6 miles across Iowa. Tire dipped in the Mississippi River at 10:39AM

Done.

RAGBRAI 2013's ass has been whipped.

Yes, I'm taking the Mississippi River back with me.

The final two miles

Nearing the end.

The video below is mostly boring.  Won't blame you if you bail long before the end.  But I wanted to capture the last part of the ride, all the way down the final hill to the Mississippi River.

Warning:  there is a lot of wind noise.  Almost as bad as the noise they were playing in West Point.  Turn your speakers way down.  (Off?)  You're not going to miss much with no sound. (Well, ok, if you turn the sound off you'll miss my asthma-like wheezing.  But you'll also miss the bicycle piano man, too.  It's all about compromises.)

West Point Iowa -- the penultimate stop

Nine miles from the finish line was the final "pass through" town:  West Point.  Known for sweet corn and five -- count 'em! -- five bars on main street.  I'm not making this up.  That's what their signs had been telling us for nearly 40 miles.  It was a point of pride for them!

I didn't ask them one single question about maps

I stopped because I needed a break.  Plus, I needed one more walking taco before I left Iowa.

I've never liked hard rock music.  It all sounds the same to me.  I'm sure the rockers all make the same counter-claim at the music I do like.  Each to his own, of course.  In the middle of the little town square, they had a trailer set up with a couple of huge speakers, blaring some of the hardest rock I've ever tried to ignore.  It was so loud you couldn't hear someone standing two feet from you.  West Point thus became the only place I was really anxious to leave because of the music.

I talked to the two young ladies in the picture above.  (Difficult to do because of the damned music.)  Asked them if they were the "Sweet Corn Queens."  They proudly told me they were candidates for the job.  I didn't ask how much it paid, but I did ask what they had to do to win.

The one in the green shirt just smiled and tilted her head.  The dark shirt girl was the chatty one.  "We have to go through an interview.  Then the public will get to ask us questions."  I asked if they were up to date on world politics and the price of sweet corn on the open market.  They both just smiled and tilted their heads.

Corn Shortage

The Des Moines Register naturally had an entire section on RAGBRAI each day.  You could always find a newspaper . . . mainly because the Register had so many people passing them out for free.

I don't think there was a single minute on the ride where there wasn't acres and acres of corn beside us.

Yet, honest to God, one of the stories in the Register had this headline:

IOWA MUST IMPORT CORN THIS YEAR

Leaving Fairfield

49 degrees.

Yeesh.  Had to knock the icicles off the bicycle.  (Bicycle icicles?  Say that out loud!)

Fortunately, I'd left a polar bear watching over the bike.  The bear was ice fishing in the little pond next to the church.  Several of the penguins had worked through the night to make a pretty snow bicyclist man for us.  The walruses and seals were having a snowball fight as we rode out of the parking lot . . . 

Times like this I wish I drank coffee.  I would have just poured a cup on my head.

Fairfield to Fort Madison

The final day.  Our seventh day on the road.

Folks had been talking about how tired everyone was getting.  Not paying attention to what they were doing.  Forgetting their manners.

In other words, acting pretty much like they do every other time they go out for a ride.

I sat there thinking that I didn't feel tired at all.  Rather, I didn't feel exhausted by the ride itself.  The daily distances were very short.  Even the second day on the ride, the 80+ miler, in the 90+ degree temperature wasn't the longest or hottest day I've ever spent on a bicycle. 

I was a little tired of camping out.  I was craving something other than fair food.  (Found a stand that was selling vegetables.  Sucked 'em right down!)  But I wasn't tired of the actual bicycling.  I could have easily gone another 500 miles, I think.  (Yeah, even with the hills thrown in.)

Speaking of hills, this leg of the route wasn't the flattest.  It was hillier than most, tell you the truth.  There was one stretch of road where they had little helpful signs proclaiming, "Iowa Scenic Hill Drive."  I would have been happier with the "Iowa Scenic Flat Land Tour," myself.

At one point going up a rather long hill, there was a guy in a car trying to get around us.  In large groups like this, you shout warnings to other bikers.  "Car up" means there's a car coming towards us.  "Car back" lets you know there's one coming up from behind you.

There was this ass-hat who, upon hearing "Car Back," intentionally got as far into the left lane as he could.  And stayed there.  Completely blocking the driver.  We weren't going more than about 8 miles per hour.  (Remember, we were going up hill.)  The driver laying on the horn didn't move this jerk.

I'm thinking, "Ya know, this is why motorists hate bicyclists."  This being Iowa, I'm half surprised the driver didn't break out his shotgun . . .no one -- bicyclist or motorist -- would have convicted him.

Some of the other bicyclists who didn't get out of the way.

Ann and Rob

On the very first day of the ride, when in Council Bluffs, I met Ann and Rob.  They were there from New York.

 It was their first RAGBRAI.  (There seemed to be a lot of first timers this year..)  They'd heard so many people repeated the ride year after year that this sounded like something they'd like to do.

We were all standing in line for the bike mechanic that first day.  Most of the folks in line had had their bikes shipped out and needed some help in assembling the machines.  Rob, Ann, and I had all had something break on the bikes.  (This was the day I stood in line for an hour, only to be told they couldn't fix it, and send me off to another bike repair shop.)

As all bicyclists do when you're doing nothing but standing around, you start comparing resumes.  I told them about my 2008 RAGBRAI ride, my trip to Lake Erie, trucking off to Richmond, Chicago, and Knoxville.

Ann had 'em all beat.  Combined.  In just one journey.   She rode from San Francisco to New Jersey in 67 days.  And made a documentary of it.  And plans on doing a second ride, from Florida to Maine. 

Foursquare Church

The very nice place we're staying on our last night on the road, Foursquare Church.  The people have been every bit as nice, cheerful, and helpful as anyone else in Iowa has been so far.  There are showers and WiFi (though 200 people accessing it has brought the WiFi to its knees), private bathrooms, air conditioned spaces . . . quite a nice change from sleeping outside:

I wonder:  does anyone use FourSquare to check into .. . . Foursquare?

 In addition to giving us accommodations which, in comparison, have been the nicest since we've started, they also fed us.  I bet these sweet church ladies didn't get off their feet in the 24 hours we were there.  If they weren't out front serving food, they were in the back making it.

At 8PM they featured "one of their own," Mitch Goudy:

Not sure who the female singer is, but she wasn't happy with the groupies . . .

Goudy Groupies

Hal and Sandy from Colorado

I met Hal and Sandy on the first day when I drove into Fort Madison.  It wasn't their first RAGBRAI.  Sixth one, I think?

They're one of many folks I met from Colorado.  Training for hills in Columbus, Ohio involves using the non-stop wind to simulate hills.  But out west, they train using real hills:  the Rocky Mountains.

After our little journey up The Big Hill (actually called Mockingbird Hill I found out tonight) I caught up with them and asked them how they did up "the big hill."

"Big Hill?" they asked a little puzzled.  "Oh, you mean that speed bump!"

Massage Folks

Pork Belly Ventures always brings along a crew of massage therapists.  Hard working folks, all.  

They're "on the clock" from 1:00 to 10:00 PM each day, doing as little as 15 minute sessions and as long as 90 minutes.  I met and talked to a couple of 'em, Jill and Bill.  Each was from somewhere in Iowa.  Each had been licensed for years.  (Bill over 20 years.)  

It was interesting to talk to 'em.

Deluxe Accommodation

My little slice of heaven in the Pre-Kindergarten room.

Sponsored by the letters F and U.  And the number 13.

Sad to say, I'm wider than my bed.  :: sigh ::

Oh, the jokes I could tell . . .

Through rain, snow, sleet . . . or crazy bicyclists, the mail must be delivered.  At about 3 miles per hour.

He's carrying your tax refund check.  From 1988.

Luggage claim

We were allowed two bags by the tour group.  As you can see from the picture below -- and as most "road warriors" know -- the bags pretty much look the same.

One of the smarter things I did on this trip was to buy two bright neon lime green laundry bags.  Every morning after I'd pack the camping gear in one bag and all my clothes in another bag.  Then I'd slip each bag into one of the laundry bags.  Finding my bag became child's play.

Welcome to Fairfield

This lady was hanging out with her killer dawg Benji.  (I guess it could be spelled Bingee.)  

At one of the little towns on the second day of the ride someone was passing out packages of turkey jerky.  I'd stuffed the package into my panniers and had pretty much forgotten about it.  Wanting to flirt shamelessly with the cute lady by feeding her dog be a nice guy and give the little critter a treat, I remembered the jerky.

Up until that point Benji had been a little, well, jerky himself.  As soon as I brought that package out, though, Benji was like, "Dude!  Best friend in the world! No, don't know who the woman is.  All I know is you're gonna feed me.  It's called living in the moment.  You humans should try it!"

Please, Benj'.  When you're going up a 7% grade for two miles, you're doing nothing but living in the moment.

I was just sitting here when all these crazy bicyclists came out of nowhere.

Packwood, Iowa

Have I mentioned how much I like a warped sense of humor?

Population always stays the same.  Every time some girl gets "in the family way" some feller leaves town.

Lucy Update

As I was leaving this morning, I ran across my 86 year old buddy Lucy.  She and John were at a Casey's parking lot.  He was taking a picture of her.  I stopped and asked if they wanted a picture together.

"Oh yes," she said.  "John never gets his picture taken!"  

Sure hope this was husband John and not some random biker boyfriend or something.

Lucy asked where I was from.  We exchanged brief profiles and I gently said, "We met yesterday right before the dam."  She then exclaimed, "Oh yes, I remember."  I smiled, but, (1) I'm not that memorable and (2) the lady's 86 years old.  I do good to remember my name.

Lucy politely indulged my request for a picture with her.

Maybe if I take a picture with this guy, he'll quit stalking me.  If not, I'll have to pop a cap in his ass . . . 

Early Morning Routine

5:00AM and there's already other crazy people people roaming about.  

You guys couldn't sleep either, huh?

The lines to the bathroom are always there.  Should you ride, you should follow an iron-clad rule:  always pee when you have the chance.  Don't wait until you have to.  If you do, you'll wind up doing the "Pee Shuffle Dance."

Some people make a living just selling their place in line.

The only woman I've slept with at RAGBRAI

We shared a floor at the day care center.  

Me, being a typical male, didn't even get her name.  

"Yeah, you're a pig."

Oskaloosa to Fairfield (by bicycle)

Another day of riding where I completed the ride by 11AM.  It's not that I'm getting faster.  It's that the short distances are working in my favor.  That and I'm not sleeping.  Internal reveille is waking me at 4AM local time.  I lie there for a half hour or so, quietly get up, start packing my stuff, do the bathroom routine, and am I'm generally ready to go between 5:00 and 5:30.

One of the interesting side effects of leaving that early is I'm towards (not at) the front of the pack.  It's a pretty thin crowd riding at that time of the day.  For the most part, if you're trucking along with the masses, you don't have to worry about things like . . . oh, you know, directions.  There's always someone in front of you.

But that hasn't been the case for me for two days.  Yesterday morning it came to bite me.

I was following two other guys.  It was a little after 5AM.  Completely dark.  I was third in line, hoping they knew were they were going.  We finally spotted some direction signs . . . but we all missed a critical one telling us to turn right.

Instead of turning right we zipped up a small incline . . . and the road turned to crushed gravel.  The gravel extended for maybe 15 feet . . . and then the road ended completely.  Except for the 10 to 15 foot drop.

The two guys in front of me knew each other. The fella in the lead was riding a recumbent.    He braked, skidded to the left, and twisted sharply.  The guy behind him cursed as he braked sharply.  "Dammit, Mike, are you trying to get us killed?!"  I was a little further back so I wasn't in any danger of hitting either of them, but it was definitely an accelerating braking job.

The three of us finally found the sign.  It may have been readable in the sunlight . . . but it was on the left hand side of the road.  That just isn't where we would have expected to see a sign telling us which way to go.

I took the sign down and trotted over to the other side of the road to tape it on a road sign across the street.  I had to start flagging other riders down, pointing the correct direction to ride.

This morning I didn't have any Wile E. Coyote "dropping off a cliff" moments, but there were so few riders it was difficult to make sure I was headed in the correct decision.  The camp was so far off the route there were no signs for a couple of miles.  I knew the general direction we needed to be heading, and I knew we were headed to Fairfield, but I didn't know the exact route.  It all worked out.  I eventually found a few other riders, figured we'd all go off a cliff together.

Last night as we were coming back from town, the sky had become completely overcast.  The weather forecast promised a 60% to 70% chance of rain starting around 3AM and continuing on through at least 9AM.  It did rain overnight, but by the time I got on the road it had ended.

The skies stayed overcast, though.  That kept the temperatures very cool.

The true Iowa weather comes to life

Today's route was the flattest so far.  Less than 1200 feet of climb.  A few hills just to make us sweat a tad.  (And me without my "do-rag"!)

While flat, the rain had brought some serious headwinds.  I'm beginning to think wind is a far worse bicycling enemy than climbing a hill.  A 10 to 15 MPH headwind just wears you down with the constant buffering.  Didn't come close to riding my average speed today.

The sun only poked its head out once during my ride.  I caught the picture below.  It looked like a heavenly pronouncement.  As if God picked up a celestial Google Groups account.

Appropriately enough, the building in the lower right is a church.

Instead of camping out last night I stayed in a day care center.  Tonight I'm staying in the Pre-K room of a church.  I think Karma's trying to tell me something.  "Act like a kid and you'll be treated like one."

Mary of Oskaloosa

Our campground was approximately 13,000 miles away from, well, anything.  We could have just hung out there, but after dinner, the place gets kind of dead.  In town there was music and beer and Walking Tacos!

Oskaloosa ran a pretty good bus shuttle program.  If NASA had run the space shuttle program as well, it would still be running.  Of course, the astronauts would be expected to tip well.

I couldn't quite figure out the math, watching the shuttles leave for town.  They always had more people going than coming back.  The math doesn't work out.  Just based on simple addition and subtraction, there's a few hundred people hanging out in downtown Oskaloosa thinking, "Aren't we supposed to be bicycle riding right about now?"

Mary was just getting off volunteer duty for the day.  I was standing in line with a few dozen more, waiting for the next downtown bound shuttle.  Mary pulled her car up and cheerfully hollered, "Anyone need a ride downtown?  I've got room for four!"

I don't think any of us are used to that level of friendly neighborliness.  It took me a few seconds to say, "Yes, thank you," and hop in the shotgun seat.  Three others crowded in the back.  And we were all shuttled downtown in an air conditioned luxury SUV instead of waiting for the school bus.

It only took about 15 minutes to get there, but Mary kept us entertained the entire time with local stories, and tales about her husband, grown kids, and grand kids.  She said she wound up in Oskaloosa because of her husband's job.  Mary was a financial planner.  She said she and her husband both loved to spend money (concerts, vacations, shows) so she used her Financial Planner powers to keep her husband working.  "We can't do all the things we like to do if you quit working, dear." 

I've truly been blown away by the incredible spirit of hospitality "the natives" all show.  But Mary's giving us a ride really was icing on the cake.  Seriously, when's the last time a complete stranger offered you a ride?  (All right, the police offering you a ride in the back isn't quite the same.  C'mon.)

Way Beyond Cutie Blonde of the Day

Holly.

Thank you, Victoria's Secret, for letting her hang out in Iowa this week.

Pella, Iowa

Folks had been talking about going through Pella.  That it was going to be a "meeting town."  (Someone explained to me what a "meeting town was."  I was polite, but I really didn't care.)

Obviously Pella -- the inventor of late night infomercials -- needs to up their name recognition.  Because it didn't click with me in the least.  I suppose if someone named their town, "Coca Cola Ville" I'd have caught the corporate tie-in right away.

I didn't look any of this stuff up on Google, but I'm guessing the Pella family is Dutch.  So the entire town is also heavily influenced by the Dutch.  No idea what the caption says at the top of the structure in the picture below.  But I bet it's something like, "Buy our windows."

Not exactly the company logo

Bicyclists are like honey badgers.  They don't care where they sit.  Even on sacred Dutch monuments.

She just followed me home.  Can I keep her?

Red Rock Dam

Smack dab across Iowa's largest lake.  

I was able to inspect the dam just based on what I was wearing.

Them collectors won't be able to get it now

Ya know, down South, we usually just put cars up on blocks . . . 

Iowa Air Flight 995, you're cleared to . . . uhh, plow?

For those in the crowd who think they're too "old" to ride

The tag says:

Lucy

Washington IA

Age 86

And riding for kicks

Take your Medicaid and shove it.

The Cutie Blonde of the Entire Ride:

She told me her husband was "driving the support truck."  "He can't quite bicycle any more, so I do it for both of us."

Awww.

Home Sweet (Sweat?) Home

Oddly enough, I thought I was going to be too hot during the evenings.  I packed accordingly.  A fleece sleeping bag instead of my nice warm fully padded sleeping bag.  It's been relatively cool in the evenings.  Lows in the low sixties.  Brrr.

Prime real estate.  Right next door to the bathrooms.

62 degrees.  Even Satan's wearing a Hawkeye sweatshirt.

What? There are blondes in Iowa? I hadn't noticed.

I'd asked these two staff members in Runnels, "What's the deal with blondes in Iowa.  It's like being in Sweden without the funny accents."

The shorter of the two nudged the other one and said, "She's not a real blonde."

It's rare that I'm struck speechless.  

This is a family ride. And statements like that will certainly lead to making a family.

What we see at every little town we go through

I don't seem to remember that we were routed through little towns when I rode this in 2008.  I seem to remember that the towns directly on the route put on street fairs, but not ones that were even a little bit off the map.

There's always a cop or someone in uniform directing traffic off the main route.  Sending us right into the arms of folks who want to sell us food and trinkets.

The scene below has been replayed a dozen times or more already:

Gotta admit I don't know how they managed to get high school students to do something civic-minded on summer vacation.  But the crazier of the bicyclists hadn't worked off enough energy yet.

For the bicyclists in the crowd

No, the picture isn't backward. 

Gedouddamywayyaslowazz

Pleasant Hill

Right as we were leaving Des Moines, we took a trip through Pleasant Hill

'Cuz "Sumbitch Hill" wouldn't fit on the squad car

I knew right away whoever named the town "Pleasant Hill" wasn't a bicyclist.  If there's a hill, it ain't pleasant.  A bicyclist would have called it, "That big mound of dirt in the middle of the road that makes us sweaty and out of breath- Ville."

Ehh.  Maybe Rand-McNally vetoed that one for "Pleasant Hill."  "Naw, we're not calling it that.  Won't fit on the map.  Pick another name.  We're up against deadline."

$2.50 Water

As we were leaving Des Moines, they routed us through the Iowa State Fairground.  They had a few booths open. The morning crew of the radio station was broadcasting.  (The female part of the crew was riding a stationary bike.  To simulate our rides?  Because she needed to drop a pound or two?  I don't know.)

There was a sign on one of the administrative buildings which said the bathrooms were open.  I'd forgotten to fill up my water bottles before I left. Figured if I could get to the bathrooms I could find some water, too.

Except the doors were locked.  I'm assuming they didn't want me to "water the bushes" and since I really didn't need to do that anyway, I cycled right across the lot to their official "beverage stand."

Asked the guy for a couple of bottles of water.  "That'll be $5," he said.

"What?  You're kidding me, right?"  I said.  Water hadn't been priced more than a buck a bottle since I started the ride.  Sometimes it was 50 cents.  And a good portion of the time places were giving it away.

He looked apologetic.  "I'm guessing you've never been to the Iowa State Fair."

He had a point. But I did get him to fill up the water bottles with ice cubes.  He did that for free.  I felt obligated, then, to tip the guy.  Geeeeez.  $7 for two bottles of ice water.  I'm still ticked off about it.

All your money belongs to us

Amanda and Sydney

When I took off for Des Moines, I really wanted to get the blog updated as I'd been without an internet connection for a couple of days.  (A big "up yours" to AT&T's "national data coverage" map from their website.  Completely worthless and inaccurate.  "Wait, you mean you actually want to use the plan you pay for?")  Additionally, I had some time critical things I needed to get done for work.  

That meant hauling ass (even if it takes me five trips!) to Des Moines.  I knew I had a few hours work ahead of me. Wanted to get there early so I could find a WiFi connection.

But the trip to Knoxville was a little more relaxed.  I took my time.  I . . . meandered.  I stopped at every little stop.  

I ate like I wasn't ever going to eat again.  

I saw Sydney hanging out on the side of the road.  (Sydney is the goat in the picture.)  I had to stop and pet the little beast, doncha know.  

Awww.

Amanda and her mother were using Sydney to sell breakfast burritos.  It worked.  I bought one.

And then I bought another one when I got to Runnels.

And then I bought an ice cream cone later.  A three-breakfast day.  Mmm.

By the look on my face you'd think I was eating chocolate pickle ice cream.

Obviously a union shop where it takes five workers to pour one ice cream cone.

Runner guy

Caught a picture of the dude who wasn't punished enough by riding a bicycle 400+ miles.  He decided to run the entire route.

Mama always said RAGBRAI was like a box of chocolates . . . 

Sunrise at Pork Belly Ventures Camp in Des Moines

Run by a brother / sister combo (Tammy and Pete), Pork Belly Ventures is a great tour group.

They cater to the "over 40" crowd. They really go out of their way to make you feel like family. (Yes, they'll smack you if you act like one of their stupid relatives.)

They really go out of their way to make you as comfortable as a human being can possibly be. Granted, bicycling dozens of miles in the hot sun, sweating like a pig, and then camping out makes for a rather low bar to jump in terms of being comfortable, but, still.

I think someone just didn't want to walk a mile to the Kybo.  They just peed on the closest tent . . .

The list of amenities they offer is spectacular. Just this year (and off the top of my head) they have two semi-trailers they've converted to showers. (24 showers per trailer, I think.) They've got a trailer that does nothing but haul the luggage from 750+ riders. They have a tent set-up service if you don't want to set up your own tent. (At least 250 of those. And each of those 250 tents has to be torn down and re-set-up by noon in the next down.)

They've even got a "rolling apartment" kind of service. Two more semi-trailers that they've converted into 8 "apartments". Completely air conditioned. 4 bunks in each space. You don't have to pack bags or tents. You just get on your bike in the morning and ride to the next town. When you get there, you just go into your little space.

They feed you three or four times per week. They've got a mid-week laundry service. (That's the only thing I've discovered the crew is damned bitchy about. Other than that, the 75 to 100 people working for them are the nicest / politest / most helpful I've seen.) They offer free beer and lemonade. They offer free root beer floats multiple times per week.

They're not, by any stretch of imagination, the least expensive group, but they sure know what they're doing.

I tried to figure out how much they pull in from their operation each year. Just spit-balling, I bet they come close to three quarter million. Talked to some kid in the shower line yesterday who's worked for them for several years. He said he works for Apple the other 51 weeks of the year. Said his week with PBV is kind of like a vacation . . . and he makes in a week what he makes in a month working for Apple.

Interchangeable Perfect Days

Look at that gorgeous sky.  It really doesn't matter which route it was. Tuesday and Wednesday were equally gorgeous.

Because I'm richer than Croesus, I can afford to do stupid things like hold a $600 phone in the air while riding a bicycle.  (That's sarcasm, Mr. Snooping IRS Man.)

This video just shows a typical stretch of road along any RAGBRAI route of any year.

Bus Ride on the D Line to downtown Des Moines

Buncha tired bikers looking for love in Des Moines.

Whoa . . .what is this invention that gets you up a hill without making you sweat?

When I got on the bus at the camp I asked the guy how much it cost.  Figuring a couple of bucks or so.  He said there was no charge.  I told him they were all right. That I didn't even care what Ohio said about Iowa.

He said, "Huh.  I don't care what Ohio says about us, either."

Des Moines

Our campgrounds in Des Moines were a good three to four miles from downtown.  You've never encountered a bunch of bitchier people than bicyclists who're forced to -- horrors! -- walk somewhere.  (Uhhh, no, we're not getting back on that damned bicycle . We've done our ride today, thank you very much.)

The local bus transit company was running shuttle buses every 7 to 8 minutes from the grounds to downtown.  This poor lady just wasn't ready for the sheer scope of questions she was going to be asked by the 35,000 people who'd dropped in for a one night stand.  

I honestly don't remember the question the rider here was asking her, but it was something along the lines of, "Can you find Des Moines on this map?"

Let's see . . . Iowa . . . Iowa . . . nope, never heard of it . . . 

Maybe she once competed for Miss South Carolina?

The place it all started

I won't bore you with the complete history of RAGBRAI.  Suffice it to say that 2013 is the 41st year they've been running it -- since 1973.  If I remember the lore correctly, a features writer at the Register wanted to write some human interest stories on all the really smoking hot blondes "regular folks" who live in Iowan small towns.  He also wanted to travel to those small towns by bicycle.

The Godfather of RAGBRAI

He asked the sports writer guy to come along.  Sports guy said, "Sure.  We should put it in the paper and see if anyone else wants to go with us."  Fifty to sixty other crazy people responded . . . and all of that caused me to have a really sore butt as I'm writing this.